


The Shape of You in Bloom

by glorious_spoon



Series: The Time Traveler's Werewolf [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 11:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16117727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: At some point, they were probably going to have to have an actual conversation about this, but for now he was perfectly content to curl into Derek’s side on the couch and doze while Derek’s big warm hand rubbed up and down his back, soothing aimless patterns like he was tracing the shape of Stiles with his fingers, like his hands alone could keep him anchored in this moment.





	The Shape of You in Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> A fluffy, porny coda to 'The Seven Lives of Stiles Stilinski' although it's not really necessary to read that first. Also fills the 'Blowjobs' square on my Kink Bingo card.

Nightfall found them curled together on the couch in comfortable silence. Everyone else was long gone, but Derek seemed to have no plans of leaving, or of letting go of Stiles. At some point, they were probably going to have to have an actual conversation, but for now Stiles was perfectly content stay right here and doze while Derek’s warm hand rubbed up and down his back, soothing aimless patterns like he was tracing the shape of Stiles with his fingers, like his hands alone could keep him anchored in this moment.

They were still there when the front door swung open, then shut. Derek’s muscles tensed like he was preparing to leap off the couch and out the window, or possibly rip someone’s throat out, and Stiles yawned, tugged at him, and mumbled, “Knock it off, it’s just my dad.”

“I know,” Derek said. Right, werewolf senses. He still seemed tense as hell, which on second thought was probably understandable, given the number of times Derek had ended up handcuffed and/or at held at gunpoint by the Beacon Hills Sheriff Department in general and Stiles’s dad in particular.

Stiles considered lifting his head, then decided it was too much work. “Relax,” he murmured, curling his fingers in Derek’s borrowed shirt to curtail any bright ideas. “He likes you, dumbass. It’s fine.”

“That’s what _you_ say,” Derek muttered, and then there were footsteps in the hallway, the sound of a laptop case being set down against the wall. A long, pointed silence, then a loud sigh. Stiles lifted his head.

“I’m sure this is a hell of a story,” his dad said in the most long-suffering tone imaginable, “but frankly I don’t have the energy for it. You can tell me everything in the morning.”

“Okay, Dad,” Stiles said around a yawn, and put his head back down on Derek’s shoulder.

“You’re okay, though?”

“‘Mfine,” Stiles mumbled. “Pretty sure we fixed it. Tell you all about it tomorrow.”

“Good. Mr. Hale...”

“Sir,” Derek said. If the word was bitten off any more sharply, he’d have broken his teeth. Stiles poked him in the side, ignoring the nearly subsonic growl he got in response.

His dad snorted. “Relax, son. Stiles is old enough to make his own bad decisions.” He turned to leave, then paused by the door and added, “But please try to remember that while I may not be a werewolf, I’m also not deaf, and my room is just down the hall. I don’t care what you get up to, but I don’t want to hear it.”

Before either of them could formulate a response, he smirked and slipped out of the room.

“Oh my God,” Stiles muttered when he’d gone, dropping his face into his hands.

“That went better than I thought it would,” Derek remarked at length. He actually sounded halfway amused, the asshole.

“I told you, he likes you. For some reason.” Stiles lifted his head and gave him a look. Derek seemed softer than he was used to, this close; the stubble on his jaw just barely flecked with gray, the curve of his cheekbone faintly dusted with freckles that were invisible at a distance. The amused curl of his mouth looked soft, and Stiles tilted his chin up to press his lips to it. It still felt daring, kind of unbelievable that this was something he was allowed to do now, that Derek kissed him back.

“You like me too,” Derek said against his mouth. From anyone else, it would have sounded smug, but there was a note of wonder in his voice that was completely disarming. “For some reason.”

“Do you want a list? I have a list.” Stiles ran his hand up the back of Derek’s neck, tangling his fingers in the too-long hair at his nape and drawing him back down for another kiss. “I can write it down for you if you want.”

“Maybe later,” Derek said. “For now, let’s get you to bed.”

“I like the way you think.”

“To _sleep_ ,” Derek amended, sounding amused.

“No, nope, that’s definitely not where I was going with that thought.”

“You’ve been awake for, what, thirty-six hours?”

“Something like that?” Stiles kissed him again, then dropped his head to mouth softly at the hollow of Derek’s throat, and grinned when he heard a shaky breath overhead. “Kind of hard to keep track with all the, you know, time travel.”

“So you need your sleep.” But Derek’s fingers were flexing restlessly on his bare arms, and he was making no effort to push him away. “We don’t even know if it’s over yet.”

“I really, really don’t care.”

“Do I need to remind you that you got impaled by a piece of rebar less than six hours ago?”

“See, now you’re just killing the mood on purpose,” Stiles said, sitting upright. He tugged his shirt up over his head and tossed it over the arm of the couch. His dad would probably find it in the morning and give him endless amounts of shit about it, and he couldn’t bring himself to care in the least. “Look at me. I’m _fine_.”

Derek was definitely looking at him now. There was a glittering heat in his eyes that still felt shocking and new, although now that Stiles was paying attention he thought that maybe Derek had been looking at him like that for a while. He just hadn’t noticed.

Well, it wasn’t exactly news that he could be kind of oblivious sometimes. And he was sure as hell noticing it now. In fact, he was pretty sure he was never going to get tired of watching Derek look at him like this.

“You’re sure.” His hands were still gentle, almost tentative, as he ran them up Stiles’s bare sides, and maybe Stiles wasn’t the most observant person in the world, but he was pretty sure there was more than one question there.

“Pretty fucking sure, yeah,” he said, and sucked in a sharp, startled breath as Derek’s thumbs caught on his nipples. Derek lifted his head at that, his smile sweet and sudden and edged with wicked teasing. 

“Positive?”

“Absolutely positive.” Derek’s fingers ran down his sides again, barely skimming his skin, then dipped under the waistband of his jeans. Stiles exhaled shakily and said, “Okay, I think it’s time we went to bed.”

“To sleep,” Derek said, and he was definitely teasing now. Then his arms were sliding under Stiles as he stood, lifting him him effortlessly into a bridal carry. Stiles let out a startled yelp, then clung to him.

“Hey! Put me down.”

“No,” Derek said, laughing, and headed for the stairs. Stiles kicked out, knocking his bare toes against the edge of the door frame.

“Just because you have superhuman strength doesn’t mean you get to manhandle me, you animal. This is undignified.”

“Pretty sure it would be a lot more undignified if I dropped you on the stairs,” Derek said, which, okay, fair point. “Also, I thought we were supposed to be keeping it down.”

“Fine,” Stiles said, but he couldn’t manage to make his voice sound as sulky as he wanted to. His mouth wouldn’t stop smiling. “But for the record, I’m registering my protest of this treatment.”

“Noted,” Derek said as they crossed into Stiles’s room. He kicked the door shut behind them and toppled Stiles onto the bed, them made a startled little huff when Stiles grabbed onto his shirt with both hands and yanked him down too. The sudden weight of him made the mattress creak, and Stiles hooked his legs around the backs of Derek’s thighs before he could get any ideas about moving away.

“See? How do you like it, huh?”

Derek laughed softly, then dipped his head to kiss him. “I think I can live with it.”

“Yeah?” Stiles said, grinning. “Me too. Get this off.”

“You’re kind of impatient,” Derek said as he knelt up over Stiles to strip his t-shirt off. The broad expanse of his chest and his muscular shoulders seemed sculpted out of smooth planes, his skin hot beneath Stiles’s hands. That he was allowed to _touch_. He’d spent so much time around Derek very determinedly keeping his hands to himself that it felt like he was getting away with something now.

“This cannot possibly be a surprise to you.”

“No, but—” Derek’s voice broke off sharply when Stiles unbuttoned his jeans and slipped his hand inside, and yeah, that was probably never going to stop being a rush, that naked desire. When he spoke again, he sounded strained. “Stiles.”

“We’re supposed to be quiet,” Stiles said, and laughed out loud at the half-hearted glare Derek shot him from under his brows. It probably would have been a lot more effective if Derek hadn’t sounded entirely out of breath, if he hadn’t been rocking into Stiles’s hand like he couldn’t even help himself, the length of his cock heavy and throbbing.

“Then maybe you should _stop talking,_ ” Derek said. It sounded like he was trying to sound annoyed, but it came out breathless and turned on instead, which was kind of awesome.

“Okay,” Stiles said easily, and began sliding down between the vee of Derek’s spread legs, the bedsheets crumpling beneath him. He could tell from Derek’s sharp intake of breath the exact moment he figured out Stiles’s destination. One big hand settled in Stiles’s hair, carefully, warm fingers tracing the upper curve of his ear. His heart was pounding so hard that Derek had to be able to hear it, and this was all kind of new territory for him but it sure as hell didn’t seem like Derek was complaining.

“You don’t have to—”

“I _want_ to. Is that okay?”

“It’s.” Derek breathed out a laugh. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

“Good.” Stiles tugged at Derek’s jeans, then gave up on peeling the tight denim out of the way. “Off, get these off, come on. Oh my God, do you just spray paint them on in the morning, or what?”

“They’re supposed to fit like that, Stiles.”

“I mean, not that I’m complaining, but—” Stiles broke off as Derek rolled onto his back and shoved his jeans and underwear down in a single smooth motion. “Okay, yeah. Definitely not complaining.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Derek said, and he was laughing at Stiles, he was definitely laughing at him, but his hand was gentle, tracing the outline of Stiles’s jaw, sliding up over his lips. Stiles sucked the tip of his finger into his mouth without even thinking about it, curling his tongue over the rough pad, and was rewarded with another short, sharp breath. When he looked up, Derek was staring at him, his chest heaving, his eyes intent. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Stiles—”

Stiles let Derek’s finger slip out of his mouth as he settled between his legs. Ran his hands up Derek’s solid thighs, feeling the prickle of fine hair on his palms, and then, without looking away from Derek, curled his hand around the base of his cock and slid his mouth over the head.

Derek let out an explosive breath, and his hand clenched in Stiles’s hair hard enough to make his eyes water. He let go almost immediately, said hoarsely, “Sorry.”

Stiles hummed, slid his mouth down further, then pulled up, setting up a slow, slightly awkward rhythm. It wasn’t as easy to do this as porn made it look; his mouth full of hot pulsing flesh and the salt taste of pre-come, and it was tricky to keep his lips over his teeth. It wasn’t long before he could feel the beginning of an ache in his jaw.

It was also, bar none, the hottest thing he’d ever experienced. Derek’s thigh was trembling under his palm, his hand coming up to touch Stiles’s face, finger running over the spit-slick curve of his mouth where it was stretched tight around his cock, brushing lightly over his cheeks, carding his hair back from his eyes— gentle touches, all of it, maddening. Stiles pushed his hips against the mattress, realized distantly that he was seriously at risk of coming in his pants like he hadn’t since he was a frustrated virgin jerking off right here, imagining— well, imagining pretty much exactly this.

Derek’s finger ran over his mouth again, and without pulling away Stiles grabbed for his hand and placed it firmly in his hair.

“Fuck,” Derek murmured, his head thumping back against the mattress. His fingers tangled in Stiles’s hair again, gentler this time, then smoothed out, his palm cupping the base of his skull. Guiding the rhythm, Stiles realized, and the thought put another spike of heat through his groin. “Oh, fuck, Stiles.”

Stiles hummed again, ground his hips against the mattress and felt the early heat of an orgasm building at the base of his spine, in his trembling thighs. He rolled his tongue against the underside of Derek’s cock, and heard Derek bite out a curse, and that was all the warning he got before Derek’s cock was pulsing in his mouth, filling it up with the salt-bitter taste of come.

“Oh my God, Derek,” he gasped, pulling off and resting his cheek against the hot curve of Derek’s thigh, shoving one hand inside his own jeans without even bothering to unbutton them. “Oh, fuck, that was hot.”

Derek’s cock jumped again before his eyes, and above his head Derek ground out his name in a raw, breathless voice, and that was it, he was done, he was coming almost as soon as he could wrap his fingers around his dick.

“Fuck, oh, fuck,” he mumbled.

Above his head, Derek made a soft noise. “Let me—”

“Too late,” Stiles mumbled against his thigh, and then, “shut up. It’s not my fault you’re so hot, you dick.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Derek protested, his voice warm with banked laughter. His hand swept over Stiles’s shoulders again, trailing prickling heat in its wake, then hooked under his arm. “Come here.”

“Pretty sure I just came _everywhere_ ,” Stiles said, and grinned when Derek snorted. He pushed himself up enough to crawl up Derek’s body until they were nose to nose, grinning dopily. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Derek said, and lifted his chin to kiss him, slow and thorough. “We should—” He kissed Stiles again. “We should probably talk about this.”

“Ugh.” Stiles rolled off of him to land on the pile of tangled blankets on the other side of the bed. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. After breakfast. You’re staying over.”

“Is that so.” Derek sounded bemused, but he hadn’t made any move to roll out of bed and start pulling his clothes on, which was a good sign that he was planning on being sensible about this.

“It is so,” Stiles said. He unbuttoned his jeans, made a face, then shoved them off entirely, kicking them off the end of the bed and cleaning himself roughly with a corner of the sheet. “You’re gonna hate it. My dad’s going to make unsubtle innuendos and interrogate you over toast. Possibly while cleaning his guns at the table.”

He flopped down halfway across Derek’s warm, broad chest, tucked his nose under Derek’s jaw, and breathed in the smell of him. Clean sweat and Stiles’s soap, and it was probably a good thing that it was dark, because his smile was stupid and helpless.

Derek curled an arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I think I’ll live.”

He didn’t seem like he was planning on slipping away in the middle of the night, but Stiles hooked his leg over his knee anyway, twining around him like a creeper vine, anchoring him in place just in case he got any ideas. He yawned into Derek’s collarbone, feeling the tension he’d been carrying for the past two days— for probably a lot longer than that, actually— start to unwind by slow degrees. “Good.”


End file.
